GUILTY SECRETS

by Virginia Kantra

  He held her gaze deliberately. "I figured this was a good time to share some of those details of our personal lives that you're so hot about."

  The echoes of their last argument trembled between them.

  Two people can't form a relationship without sharing some details of their personal lives.

  How much sharing are you willing to do, Mrs. Burdett?

  Nell's gaze dropped to her bowl. She didn't answer.

  "Did you know your ex was using when you married him?" Joe persisted.

  "Is this one of those 'when did you stop beating your wife' questions?"

  He didn't laugh.

  Nell sighed. "All right, no. I realize you think I have some save-the-world complex, but I didn't choose to get involved with a man who had a drug problem."

  Joe winced. Well, he'd asked. "So, you didn't marry him to save him?"

  She scraped her spoon against the bottom of her bowl. "I married Richard because he was brilliant and charming and he said he needed me."

  Her eyes were distant. Joe wanted her here. With him.

  "I missed that," Nell said softly. "Being needed. When I was growing up, my mother worked two dead-end jobs to support us, but she always made a big deal about how she needed me to keep things together at home."

  Joe thought of Nell, awkward and willing, cutting carrots in the kitchen with his mother, and thought he understood. "What did she think of your husband?"

  "She died before I could introduce them." Nell pushed her bowl away. "Richard was … there, you know? I guess I went from cooking and cleaning and doing her laundry to cooking and cleaning and doing his."

  Joe felt a flare of resentment toward her ex-husband, who had taken advantage of her grief and loneliness to move in on her.

  "And what did Richard do while you were putting him through school and keeping house?"

  Nell looked surprised. "He was a resident," she said, as if that explained everything. And maybe, to her, it did. "He was under enormous pressure. Practically living at the hospital. That's when he started using amphetamines to make it through his work rotations. Only then he couldn't sleep, and he'd have to take something else to come down. I tried to talk to him about it, but he said he was managing. He said he just needed a little help to make it through the last year."

  Her voice was strained. Joe wondered if all this revelation was too much for her, coming after her attack and on top of her near concussion. Not to mention his invasion of her home and his brother's badgering.

  But he needed to know, if he was going to defend her. He wanted to know.

  He reached across the table and took her hand. "So, what happened?"

  "I hoped when Richard received a permanent appointment in anesthesiology that things would get better. Maybe for a while they did. But then a friend of mine, an OR nurse, warned me he was using IV fentamyl. And he was wasting too much."

  Joe frowned. "You mean wasted."

  "No. Morphine is dispensed in ten cc ampoules. If a patient's dosage is less than that, you push the required amount into his IV line and then push—waste—the rest into the garbage before you toss the syringe. You're supposed to have a witness," Nell explained. "You call out, 'wasting,' and then you do it. Only Richard was calling and then pocketing the half-full syringe."

  "Clever," Joe said.

  "Common," Nell corrected.

  She would know.

  "What did you do?"

  "I told him to get help," Nell said, using small words and short sentences, as if that would somehow help her get through this. "I threatened to report him. He promised to stop."

  And of course Nell had believed him. Nell believed in everybody. Which either made her the biggest sap in the world or the angel her patients called her.

  "But he didn't," Joe said.

  "I thought he did. We worked in the same hospital. We had friends… My spies, he called them. I thought it would help." Her throat moved as she swallowed. Her fingers tightened on his. "And then one day the hospital chief of staff called me into his office when I came off shift and demanded to know why I was writing prescriptions to supply my husband's drug habit."

  "That's bull," Joe growled.

  Nell smiled wryly. "Well, yes. But I understood how he could reach that conclusion. Apparently Richard was using my prescription pad and forging my signature."

  Mike's voice echoed in Joe's head like mortar fire. The nurse? We got called to her clinic because she was writing bad prescriptions… She's saying somebody either photocopied an old prescription or stole her prescription pad and forged her signature.

  That happens, doesn't it?

  Happens all the time.

  "Did you tell this guy—the chief of staff—did you tell him what you suspected?"

  "Oh, yes." Her hand was cold in his. "But he said that if he believed me he had no choice but to fire Richard. If, on the other hand, I was willing to take responsibility for diverting drugs from the hospital pharmacy, he would see to it that Richard kept his job and received treatment for his drug problem."

  She pulled back her hand and folded her napkin precisely into quarters. "It seemed the best solution at the time."

  Joe kept his voice level with an effort. "The best solution for Richard. What about you?"

  "Oh." Nell sat back, blinking, as if he'd introduced some radical new variable into her neat formula. "Well, DPR—the Illinois Department of Professional Regulation—only requires hospitals to notify them if a nurse is fired. Not if she resigns."

  Cold settled in Joe's stomach.

  She wouldn't, he thought. Nobody could be that conscientious. That self-sacrificing. That stupid.

  Nobody except maybe the Angel of Ark Street.

  "You resigned," he said flatly.

  Nell gave a small nod. "I didn't want to continue to work in the same hospital anymore anyway. But one of Richard's colleagues filed a complaint with the Nursing Board."

  "For God's sake, why?"

  Nell lined up her spoon precisely with the edge of the table. "I'm not sure."

  But Joe could guess. After Nell's ex was forced into treatment by the hospital's chief of staff, he must have been anxious to pin his misconduct on somebody. And who better than his eager-to-take-responsibility ex-wife?

  Selfish, slimy, son of a bitch.

  "So they held a private settlement conference and put you on probation," Joe concluded grimly.

  Nell's clear blue eyes widened. "How did you know?"

  Her question caught him like a camera flash. And the picture he got of himself wasn't pretty.

  Hell. Joe got up to carry their bowls to the sink. What should he tell her?

  Honesty is the best policy, Mary Reilly used to tell her sons.

  The truth will set you free. That was in the Bible.

  But Joe the journalist didn't believe in truth anymore. Not when the facts in this case could send Nell to jail. Not when confessing what he'd done could wreck his chances of taking her to bed. He never should have opened his mouth to his brother. He wasn't going to compound his error by blabbing to Nell now.

  Anyway, it wasn't fair to her—was it?—to make her worry about what he knew or what he'd found out. Especially since he didn't intend to do anything with the information.

  Except tell his brother to bury it.

  Joe rinsed the bowls under the tap. "It's obvious the hospital would want to hush things up." Smooth, Reilly. Very smooth. "And it figures the nursing board would have to impose some sanctions. I hope the son of a bitch was grateful."

  "Richard? Not particularly."

  Joe turned, his hands wet. "Tell me he at least came to your hearing," he begged.

  "He was eager to put the past behind him," Nell said straight-faced. "His wife—did I mention he married the colleague who filed the complaint against me?—felt it would hurt his recovery to be under that much stress."

  Anger sharpened his voice. "What about your stress?"

  A week ago maybe he wouldn't have noticed the way her chin
wobbled before she got it back under control. Maybe he wouldn't have seen the old hurt that darkened her eyes.

  He noticed now, and it made him want somebody dead.

  "I don't think Richard's wife was nearly as concerned about my stress levels," Nell said lightly.

  "Somebody should have been."

  "The chief of staff spoke up for me," Nell offered.

  "He damn well should have, seeing as he got you to take the fall for his guy in the first place. Honey, you were screwed."

  She opened her mouth to protest. Thought better of it and shrugged. "Possibly."

  "Are you going to contact him now?"

  She looked genuinely surprised. "Why?"

  "To set the record straight."

  "I suppose… No. What good would it do?"

  "It would keep you from losing your license. It could keep you from going to jail."

  She crossed her arms defensively. He watched the movement push her breasts together and thought, She isn't wearing a bra.

  "I'm not going to jail," she said. "The only place I'm going now is to bed."

  Oh, yeah. Bed was a great idea. They could solve all of their problems in bed.

  Wrong.

  Joe shoved his hands into his pockets. He was angry with Nell's user-abuser ex-husband, the jealous bitch who had reported her and the slick chief of staff who had sacrificed her to hospital expediency.

  Mad at Nell for letting them get away with it.

  And furious with himself. Because before tonight, he'd been just as willing as everybody else to use her.

  He glared at her, sitting bare kneed and braless across the kitchen table.

  The sooner he had her tucked into bed—alone—the better for both of them.

  "Go to bed," he said. "I'll take the couch."

  "Why?"

  His heart beat faster. Did she mean…? Did she want…?

  "I'm perfectly all right by myself," she continued. Okay, she didn't want him. But she needed him, damn it.

  "Yeah, you said. But your doctor said someone had to stay with you for at least twenty-four hours." Someone responsible, Fletcher had said, but sometimes you had to work with what you had. "And since you have the self-preservation instincts of a squirrel in the middle of the road, I think I'll stick around."

  Joe's profile was sharp in the light from the door. His shoulders were big in shadow. He bent over the foot of Nell's bed, clumsily folding an ice-filled baggie in a towel, caring and sweet and so grimly earnest it made Nell want to cry.

  She'd bared her soul to this man tonight, and he wanted to put her to bed with an ice pack.

  The dumbass.

  "Okay, this should stay now." He approached the head of the bed, the bundled package in his hand. "Where do you, uh…"

  She took it from him. He was trying so hard. "I'll put it on when I lie down. Thank you."

  "No problem." He stood a moment, shoulders hunched. She held her breath in anticipation.

  And then he leaned forward and quickly, gently, kissed her cheek. "Good night."

  She sat stunned, her heart wide open and her hands clutching the covers. There was no time to absorb him, to savor the rasp of his jaw or the brush of his lips, to breathe in the blended scents of warm male and hot soup.

  He straightened. "You want anything else?"

  Nell looked him right in the eye. "Yes. And I'm not getting it."

  He recoiled.

  Too blunt, she thought, stricken. Too needy. Maybe he would chalk it up to her head injury. "Is something wrong?" he asked warily. Her head throbbed. Her heart pounded. She should tell him no. She should let it go. She should…

  "You compared me to a squirrel," Nell said.

  His eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

  "Not in a furry, appealing, come-find-the-nuts-in-my-pocket way, either," Nell said, winding up. "More in a get-out-of-the-road-before-you-get-hit-by-a-truck way. I'm not stupid."

  "I never said—"

  "And I'm not weak."

  "No, you—"

  "And I'm not an angel."

  "Nell…" His voice shook with laughter and something else she was too upset to identify.

  "I just told you all my darkest, dirtiest secrets, and you're still treating me like some poor baby you have to pat on the head and put to bed."

  He thrust his hands into his pockets. "How am I supposed to treat you? You have a concussion. You need rest."

  Her throat ached. Her eyes burned. "That's not all I need."

  Joe swore and sat on the side of her bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, tilting her toward him.

  Pressure built, in her head and in her chest. She sniffed to keep it inside. "I'm not crying."

  "Of course not." He put his arm around her, easing her forward until her head dropped on his hard shoulder.

  "I never cry," she insisted, her voice muffled. Richard had hated to see her cry. And her mother had made her feel guilty.

  Joe kissed the top of her head. "You've had a rough day."

  "No, I…"

  She didn't have rough days. She was the one who soothed and smoothed the way for everyone else.

  "Go ahead. Let it out," Joe said. "You're entitled."

  No one in her life had ever said those words to her.

  Be a big girl, Eleanor. Don't be selfish. Don't make a fuss. We're counting on you.

  Her tears leaked into his shirt. Her nose was running. Her chest ached. Crying on him had to be the least seductive thing she could do. The thought depressed her even more. And yet she couldn't seem to stop.

  Joe rubbed her back and murmured soft, senseless words into her hair as she choked and sobbed. Her fear and fatigue, her pain and failure came out in gasps and tears.

  "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

  "Shh. It's all right."

  But it wasn't.

  "I'm not usually such a nuisance."

  "You mean, you suck at letting other people take care of you."

  "I—"

  "That's okay." He tucked her head more firmly under his chin. "I suck at taking care of people, so we both have something to get used to."

  Her mind struggled with that. Something to get used to. Did he mean, tonight? Or was he actually implying he might stick around? But she didn't want to think about that now. Didn't want to contemplate the morning, when he'd be gone.

  The average human body temperature was between ninety-seven and ninety-nine degrees. Joe felt warmer than that. Basking in his heat, Nell felt the tension seep from her neck, and then her shoulders. His damp shirt was rough under her cheek. His heart thudded under her ear. Gradually, she relaxed into him, into the strength of his arms and the support of his chest. They sat for long moments measured in breaths.

  Nell sighed. "Actually, I think you're pretty good at taking care of—" she almost said "me" "—people."

  His laughter stirred her hair. "Shows how little you know."

  He stroked a strand from her forehead, carefully avoiding the bump on the back of her head. Her heart swelled.

  "You think you could get some sleep now?" he asked.

  "Could you—" She stopped.

  He pulled back just enough to look at her. "What?"

  Nell kept her chin lowered. She didn't want to face the reflection she might see in his eyes: her swollen eyes and blotchy face, her scarred heart and tarnished integrity, her failed marriage and shaky prospects.

  She drew a breath, both for courage and because Joe seemed to be using up all the oxygen in the room.

  She looked up. "Would you sleep with me?"

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  « ^ »

  Joe couldn't think.

  All the blood that was supposed to supply his brain with oxygen surged straight to his groin, leaving him light-headed and hard as stone.

  "You, uh, want to…"

  Nell's color deepened in the yellow light from the hall. "You said you were going to sleep on the couch. I just thought… There's plenty of room in here. I
thought you'd be more comfortable."

  His mind was still playing catch-up.

  Comfortable, next to?

  Comfortable, on top of?

  Comfortable buried as deep inside her as he could get, with her legs around his waist?

  He tried to work moisture into his suddenly dry mouth. There was nothing he wanted more than to exploit this odd and intimate situation and take advantage of Nell's temporary weakness. And nothing he was more determined not to do.

  "What about you?" he asked carefully. "What would make you comfortable?"

  Her gaze slid from his. Her fingers plucked the satin binding at the edge of the blanket. "I'd like you to stay. I guess the incident this afternoon rattled me more than I thought."

  "You took quite a hit," he said, trying not to picture her naked. "That doctor guy said you might not be thinking too straight for a while."

  Which probably explained her willingness to sleep with him.

  "I'm fine. It's just … I didn't have control of the situation, and I was…" Her voice trailed off.

  Scared, Joe realized. Indomitable Nurse Dolan was hurt and scared.

  He tightened his arm around her. "That makes two of us, then, babe, because when I saw you go down, I was terrified."

  She looked at him and smiled, and that tentative curve of her lips loosed something warm in his chest that made him feel bigger. Made him feel better. Made him feel maybe he didn't suck at this comfort stuff after all.

  He stood and unfastened his belt. "Left or right?"

  She dragged her gaze from the zipper of his jeans. "Excuse me?"

  Oh, man. "The bed. Which side do you take, left or right?"

  "Oh." She shook her head at her own mistake and then winced. "Um… Right, I guess."

  He looked over at her, at her round breasts and long thighs making bumps and valleys under the covers.

  "You guess?" he repeated.

  "I don't do this often enough to have a side," she confessed. "Mostly I sleep in the middle."

  That would work. That would definitely work. If she got pressed for room in the night, maybe she'd climb on top of him.

  Comfort, he reminded himself. Don't be a pig.

  He sat on the edge of the mattress to untie his shoes.

  Nell snuggled under the blanket, making the landscape dip and change. "Would you mind getting my pills from the bathroom?"